I Know Why The Caged Birds Sings
by Kogeki
Summary: Hey, have you heard a tale about a human's faith saving an Archangel, who lost his own? Then maybe about the Archangel, who's faith in the human, that thought of himself as an abomination, a freak, helped him accept himself? Either way, that's a tale about the two broken souls, who have found their lost faith in each other, when the rest of the world gave up on them long ago.


I want to say a few words, so just bear with me, alright?  
THOUGH YOU CAN SKIP IT IF YOU WANT

First of all, I hear a lot of misconceptions about Sabriel (even if it's one of the most powerful ships on the show these days), so to everyone, who are still wondering why pairing Gabriel/Sam even exists, look up songsofthestars tumblr . The post on her tumblr is called "Why I Ship Sam/Gabriel" and it's magestic and detailed, so it's nice if you check it out (or show to people, who still don't understand the beauty of this ship). It's practically everything we feel about Sabriel in words. So yeah, go check it

We had like, five? episodes with Gabriel/Trickster and for some reason we, fans, still managed to create the bond between Gabriel and Sam. It came out of nowhere for some people. But if you have a time to actually study the characters, you get that two people who couldn't be diffrent are, in fact, so similiar to each other.

And that's exactly why I love Sabriel. The potential. And certain neglect of Sam's character pushed me to create this fic. Seriously, Dean had many friends through the years (Crowley if it counts, Benny, Lisa and Ben), then Cas was always there when he needed him. But I can't remember single time, when Sam Winchester (the cinammon roll that he is) never had a friends (and his love life sucks, so there's that). I get "Lucifer's vessel", "abomination" and all that. But I think this precious man deserves to be happy (or at least have a friend, hello, writers!). So I made him happy.

Thanks to samjohnson17 who helped me with grammar and stuff. May the force be with you

A lot of religious stuff from the various sites, but the most useful one in this chapter was: angels. about. com "Why is Gabriel the Archangel of Water?"

NOW ENJOY! :D

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1 - THE MOST INREDIBLE THINGS ABOUT MIRACLES IS THAT THEY HAPPEN - _G._**

* * *

 **I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings**

The free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wings

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with fearful trill

of the things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill for the caged bird

sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

Sam Winchester hadn't prayed for... what, years? Decades? It wasn't about calling Cas to get his featherly ass to help – it was mostly Dean's job anyway. Or talking to some angeldouche surrounded by a ring of holy fire to get info. Or even those meaningless whispers of, "Oh God" or "Jesus Christ" and "or so God help me...". That hardly counted as a prayer. He thought about those life changing super hopeful moments of "Hi, God, it's me Sam Winchester. It'd be really cool, if you could help us, thanks." He thanked, said sorry, begged even in his lowest moments, to someone, _anyone_ who gave a shit, hoping for a miracle he didn't quite believe in. He always thought he was the problem – considering his history, yeah, it wouldn't be suprising. He still had hard time grasping the fact that 50% of the problem laid at the other side of the line.

Don't get him wrong, he knows – no, seriously, he _gets it_ – that they are all just a bunch of assholes with some shiny superpowers, but he can't help to think that every single one of those bastards – God, archangels, angels – he once considered benevolent, protecting, _loving_. He believed they were helping him, that faith was helping him, like it sometimes helped other people.

He was _so stupid_.

Young and naive as he was, Sam stubbornly clung to the idea; Maybe that was what he really liked in all that – the idea of faith, of dedication, of purpose... Even if Dean consantly reminded him how pointless it is. The truth was that faith... he trusted that faith, it was the only thing that kept him grounded, when he didn't want to depend on Dean or when he couldn't trust himself. When he lost it... he lost an anchor. With losing faith in God, he lost faith in good. There wasn't "pure good", he knew that now, but there actually was pure evil in this world. It wasn't fair, not in the slightest. It wasn't the balance he needed, the balance he craved. That was some really fucked up gray reality he sometimes didn't want to wake up to.

The point is Sam didn't see a point of praying anymore – it wasn't like someone was actually listening, or giving a fuck, for that matter. He felt uncomfortable... no, that wasn't the word... he felt _frustrated_ every time he heard about a church, or sunday catholic readings, or Middle East religious wars. He wanted to shout "just stop! They don't care. None of your stupid angels or gods don't care."

The feeling only increased after the apocalypse-that-wasn't and his souless period. Yeah, some people wanted to be better and needed faith, but most of them just... Jesus Christ, they were tearing each others throats believing it gets them a VIP section in Heaven. And what's even more fucked up was that all those heavenly creatures just showed middle finger to humanity and _they just didn't care_.

But hearing about that always got him wondering, how they ended up from point A – loving Angels of the Lord, who just wanted to protect their father's creations; to point B – vengeful arrogant dicks with no moral code. When Sam faced an angel he read about in the bible, who turned out to be a psycho murderer or worse, he was losing that small amount of faith he still had.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester was a man, who didn't forget. The things that fallen apart 'cause of his doing, of his stupidity... How could he _ever_ forget that? How he dissapointed his brohter (not once), nearly broke the world (not once), got himself killed or nearly killed (not fucking once), Ruby – God, that was presumably the worst, which triggered many, many others after. How he once believed there'd be a reward, if only the little, stupid Sammy will be good.

But hey, he accepted all of it – the abomination badge, no reward after death, the family bussines. It took him a long time to sort it out, but things were good... Maybe not exactly ideal, but getting there with Dean without The Mark of Kain and Cas, who wasn't dying anymore, by his side.

He didn't need to pray to feel good about himself or to believe in people. He finally had hope that maybe, just maybe, everything will be fine again (fine, not awesome to not overdo his luck).

Their first case after... after everything was in 's Church in Worcester, MA. The last time they got rid of Isabella, her spirit began possessing and gutting men who had confessed to being unfaithful. This time it wasn't anything gore, no one has been brutaly murdered, but Sister Mathias was worried something like that could happen. From what she said to Dean on the phone the choirboy Henry Willkins, who died a week ago after an operation, sometimes showed up at sunday mass, right before the choir practices. Things started to get messy after one of the other boys was scared to death by seeing his dead friend.

Nothing major, in short.

Dean went with Sister Mathias to get the details, his glare pointedly told Sam to stay behind and look around, so the two of them could catch up. Sam with a sigh shook his head. When did the two of them even get so close? His brother always had something to unavailable women (and couldn't see what's good in front of him, even if it'd hit him in the face), but he trusted the nun enough. Besides, Cas should arrive any minute now, so he wasn't especially worried about Dean saying or doing something stupid either.

Sam didn't see a point of churches, to be honest. Praying was good anywhere. Faith was faith, simple as that. If someone haven't go to church on sundays, it didn't mean he wasn't a believer. But people tended to think otherwise. So Sam never considered himself a Catholic, a man of faith was more likely. But now, when he visited a church, it just left him with sour taste on his tongue. So now he was glad to have something to focus on – the job.

He checked the statue of Jesus, the alter, benches and each one of the pictures and windows, but the device in his hand showed nothing.

The windows caught his attention, he let his gaze linger at one of them. The stained glas showed an angel with two golden wings and a single white Lily in his one hand and Horn in the other. The face with a slight smirk, mocking, as if knowing the funniest joke on the planet, but leaving you to figure out the punch line yourself.

Or maybe Sam just interrpeted it that way – seeing it as many times as he did.

" _And I heard a man's voice between the banks of Ulai, which called, and said, Gabriel, make this man to understand the vision_."

Sam flinched slighly, not expecting anyone besides Dean and Sister Mathias in church at four in the morning. They planned to deal with the ghost and be on their way home by the evening.

"Father Delaney." Sam nodded, thight polite smile on his lips.

He hadn't particualy know the man from their last visit, like Dean did. Besides, he felt too much like a kid having one-on-one conversation with authority figure about something awkward and personal that left you more embarassed than before.

"Daniel 8:16." Father said. "I remember you, boy. You and your partner were the ones to investigate those suicides months ago."

"Y-yeah, uh..." Should he tell him that another spirit was haunting the church? Or maybe it was better, if he didn't know? Well, they didn't even know if it was an actual case (Sam asumed simple salt-and-burn), so he decided against it. We were in town. Thought we could stop by. And my name is Sam."

Father Delaney nodded, even if he looked a little skeptical. He looked up at the stained glass window again and said, "I saw you looking at him the last time you were here."

Did he, now? Well, it was hard not to stare at the mighty personification of the Archangel Gabriel, the Messenger of the Lord, when someone knew him as Trickster, and not wonder what happened. How Gabriel was like up in Heaven, before he ran away? And how he ended up in his Trickster persona, partying with pagans and sending slow-dancing aliens on people? How much he had changed since?

You can't blame Sam for wondering. Curious mind's are never content. And of all the angels Sam met, Gabriel was an enigma, the ultimate mystery he so desperately wanted to solve, but never had a chance to. When Gabriel was alive Sam couldn't think of him as anything else other than a pain in the ass with a wicked sense of humor. But he did die for them – or for Kali, it didn't really mattered. He had changed. When Sam saw the ashen wings on the floor and dead body that needed to be burned with holy fire, for the first time he saw more than a trickster, he saw an angel. An angel with history older than dirt.

So from time to time, when he didn't try to save the world, Sam stopped and wondered. Well, he did wonder about many things – what he regreted, what he didn't deserve, what he needed to fix about himself, what he'd like for dinner – but most of the time he wondered about changes. Sam changed for the better, or so he hoped, and Gabriel did the same in his last minutes... or even after that, helping them with the Horsemen's rings (through a porn, but a help no less).

Father Delaney's soft voice sounded curious. „Did you pray to him?"

Oh, he prayed to anyone, who would listen. Sometimes specificaly to the three Archangels, Gabriel maybe even more than others. But it was so long ago. Dean would laugh at him or be terrified, if Sam ever told him. There's no harm in telling it to a priest, though. 'I used to."

"What happened?"

Sam sighed, but it came out like a self-deprecating snort. "I grew up." _Angels turned out to be assholes, most of them tried to kill me and my brohter or wip out humanity. Michael was a tool, Raphael a douche, Lucifer had daddy issues worse than me and Gabriel... Gabriel didn't make me cringe every time I think about him. Which isn't a lot. Which is a lot more than I'd like to admit._

Father smiled, the smile resembled the smirk Trickster wore so many times – like he knew something you didn't and you were just too stupid too realise what it was, even it was just before your face. Sam _loathed_ that smile. Even after five or so years he still could picure it with a terrifing clarity. The image made him shudder every time.

For a second at the back of his mind Sam was sure it was just Gabriel in disguise, posing as a priest (how ironic would that be?), but the logical part of his brain kicked in and _what the fuck_? How much Trickster's so-called lessons screwed him up to the point of believeing the dead Archangel was messing with him yet again? Sam was smarter than that.

Simply because Gabriel was dead. Like dead-dead. And Sam was paranoid enough to think that even the slightest mention of the Archanel would bring him back. Like he just waited for the best moment to show up and shout, "Guess, what! I'm not dead. Did you two yahoos miss me or what?"

And Sam didn't want to think about that terryfing fact that he knew exactly what Gabriel would say or do, if something as ridiculus as this actually happened. But he banished the worry. Of course he knew. After all he did spent months trying to get into Trickster's head at the Mystery Spot case only to beg him to bring Dean back (which he wasn't proud of, but, hey, at least it worked).

Sam snapped his attention back to Fathey Delaney, who tapped his chest with one finger, a silver cross decorating his neck.

"Faith is something you carry around with you. It's like a feeling deep in your heart, you can try to burry it all you want, but you can't just loose it. You know why Gabriel is the angel of water, boy?"

Sam furrowed his brows. "I didn't know..."

"One of his specialities is sending clarity, and this great angel may send you clear insights about how to make the best decisions about your future."

Sam snorted at that. Straightforward was more like it. The un-subtle throw-it-in-your-face kind of straightforward only Gabriel could pull off. „Especially after you pray for guidance. There's a book by Richard Webster... I won't bore you with the details... Anyway Webster says, 'If you feel trapped, locked in, or are simply in a rut, call on Gabriel to help you change and start moving ahead again... The gift of prophecy can be yours, if you ask Gabriel to help.'"

"That's... really..." Sam cleared his throat. "Thank you for advice, father, but I don't think I needed one. I was just looking at the picture."

… _comparing the real deal with a beautiful creature he once may or may not have been_.'Looking' didn't sound as lame, though.

The man shrugged. "I understand. I'm in no position to presume what it is that you need and I'm sure you don't want my meddling in your life..."

"It's not... that. It's just..." He really didn't know how to talk to authority figures. You can't be respectful and honest in the same time. Sam sighed and ran his finger through his hair. 'Sorry, I should go, I really don't mean to..."

But he didn't moved, doing a vague circle with his hands, looking up for an answer. Like Gabriel-face up. If he was still be alive, he'd tottaly enjoy letting Sam stumble on his words with that smug expression on his face. The asshole. Sam glared at him as if it was his fault.

"I can recognise a lost soul, when I see one, Sam. Kind of comes with the job." Sam let out an amused breath. "And if you want to know my opinion, he chose you. Archangel Gabriel. He is here to guide those of your kind. Lost souls who forgot how to pray for help. Who caged their hope like a bird in a great need to fly, to sing. I see the hope within you, that you don't want to let out."

"I don't hope anymore." Sam confessed in a hushed whisper, afraid of anyone, even the picture of Gabriel to hear it. "I don't have anything to hope for. I just... don't."

Father Delaney smiled, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more visible than ever. He crossed himself and kissed a little silver cross on a chain. He looked at the stained glass picture of Gabriel, then at Sam, who stood there, wrunging his fingers, trying to swallow a lump in his throat.

"Where the is hope, there is faith. Where there is faith, miracles happen."

"If I ask for help," Sam said flatly. „If I pray, everything will be alright."

Miracles didn't happen. Not to him. Not the good ones, anyway.

"You haven't prayed in years, boy. How do you know praying can't help?" Father shot back.

Sam just stared at the picture, hands clenched in fists, burning a hole in Gabriel's imposibly beautiful self imagined by some author. Gabriel was dead. Even he'd be alive, he wouldn't listen to whining of a human, the more a Winchester. He'd laugh out loud and make a joke out of it. "Oh boo-hoo Sammy-boy is sad, because no one wants to listen to your whining of how you broke the world and your family. Guess what, Sasquatch? No one cares! _I_ certainly don't."

Though maybe, just maybe, he would listen. He changed after all. Sam shook his head. Gabriel was dead. There's no point of thinking of him as a saint after his death. He was a douche and he died a douche. Why Sam would even want that pain in the ass back?

Father didn't know about the Trickster, and Sam really didn't want to explain, why he and Gabriel wasn't a good combination. So he just nodded. "I'll think about it."

Father Delaney, clealry satisfied with an answer, turned around, only to see Dean and Cas emerging from the sacristy.

Dean waved in their direction. "Hiya, father! Good to go, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed again, not trusting his voice. "Y-yeah. You got everything?"

"Yep. Half an hour and we're done."

Castiel nodded to Father Delaney, who excused himself quietly, then the window catched his attention. He studied Archangel's features on the painting, then small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Good to see you, Sam."

"Yeah, you too, Cas." They usually greeted each other that way, even if the last time they saw each other was yesterday.

Dean rolled his eyes, and clapped Cas' shoulder. "You girls want to catch up on Gilmore Girls or we can get the hell out of here?"

"Ah, yes, I recall Luke Danes to be a great character in the show."

Sam's eyes went wide, as did his smirk. "You let him watch Gilmore Girls?" But he was ignored.

"Dude, no. Two words: Lorelai Gilmore. The chick is hot!"

While Dean named all the reasons why, he and Cas were heading to the front door. Sam crossed himself the picture of Gabriel (and it felt equally stupid and embarassing). Father Delaney let him remember that part of himself that respected that kind of places. His job as a hunter didn't sometimes allow even that much.

„So, uh, hi..." Yes, this was the moment he realised he tried to say something smart to a portret of the dead douchy Trickster. Jesus, he really was a mess. He snorted, the sound hollow in the empty church. "They made you taller."

"Sam, you comin'?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" He shouted, still amused and trying to ignore the headache – the prize of overthinking.

The way to the cemetery turned into 30 minutes discussion about Gilmore Girls, Cougar Town and Dr. Sexy M.D. Sam couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or kill himself, so he decided to sleep. At least he wasn't dragged into pointless conversation about Dr. Piccolo's plastic surgery or something like that.

They simply burned the body of a eighteen year old Henry Willkins and at five-thirty they were on they way back.

Sam tried to not think about that little chat with Father Delaney about Gabriel. He alawys avoided thinking about Gabriel, if he could manage it. This time, however, it turned out to be more difficult than usual. Something about it all bothered him. And he couldn't place a finger on why.

* * *

Dean stared at him for good five minutes, chewing his burger with noises that were supposed to get Sam's attention. They did, of course (his brother was very determined), but Sam spared him only a 'really?' glance, then turned back to the reading.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam couldn't stop a grin behind the book. Dean only saw his frown, from where he was sitting with elbows on the table, leaning forward to where Sam was resting in his armchair comfortably.

"Reading."

Dean only said, " _Why_?" like it was the greatest crime against humanity.

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother obvious exasperation. „

"People do that, you know. Read for fun. You should try it sometimes. Actually, I can find some books for you. You prefer pictures or big letters? Or both?"

Dean grunted in response something that souned not suprisingly like "smart-ass". He looked at the bottle on the table beside his plate, then at Sam, who returned to his book and wasn't paying attention anymore. Dean grined to himself and threw the bottle at Sam, before saying "You wanna beer?"

Sam smoothly catched it. "Thanks, man."

"Okay, enough of that crap."

Dean stood up. Sam was a huge nerd, but it was starting to get annoying how much time he spent on that damn book, when Dean was bored out of his mind. And Cas was out doing some 'important angel bussines' Dean didn't had the invitation to. So, yeah, he was grumpy this afternoon, sue him. And his bookworm brother made it worse.

Sam, sipping his – technicaly Dean's – beer didn't sense him coming, until it was too late. He snatched the book after struggling with Sam's pretty impresive hold. Jesus, he clung to it like his fucking virute depended on it. Another reason why he had to be up to something. No one – and that means fucking _no one_ – should fight like that over some stupid book.

So after a minute of struggling and furious glances, Dean managed to win – mostly because of Sam's uncoordinated moves with a beer in one hand. It left him with uneven breath – either he was getting old (hah! Like that would ever happen) or Sammy was ridiculously strong and damn if it didn't left him proud of his little brother. Who was giving him his best bitch face. Meh.

"Let's see what you've got here, buddy." He grined, strolling to the table, making a safe distance between them. One eye still watched Sam, so he didn't run into Dean in three seconds on his freakishly long legs. Just in case, you know. His little brother was quite a runner.

Smirk and color from his face fell after seeing the cover. "Seriously?" He may or may not raised his voice, because _seriously_? Sam was reading _that_? _That_ was so important he clung to it like to his own damn virtue?

"No, seriously? What the hell is that? No, scratch that, why the hell are you reading this piece of crap?"

Sam ran a hand over his face, fingers combing in his hear and scratching in distress. "It's not a piece of crap." He put the barely touched beer on the table and took the book gently from his brother's hands. He stared at it like it'd held answers to all his questions. "It's just a book that I'm reading."

Dean crossed hands on his chest. "Don't give me that. If it was a normal book like The Odyssei or To kill a Mockingjay, or..."

Sam snorted. "Mockingbird. You watched Hunger Games with Cas again?"

"He said the romance plot is compeling, but the idea of Games is pointless, and they could simply overcome the hunger by... That's not the point!"

Dean threw hands in the air, much to Sam amusment. Bare mention of the angel got him distracted in a second. "But this? This what you choose to read _for fun_? _**Gabriel: Communicating with the Archangel for Inspiration and Reconciliation**_? Who comes up with stupid fucking names like this? You know who? Crazy people! Obsessed douchbags, who don't know anything about God or angels and you shouldn't read crap like that. You know the truth. We saw it. We lived through it."

Sam quietly listened to the end of his brother's rant (like he always did). He raised his hands, showing open palms (he put the book down on the table). "For starters, I'm not a kid. You can't tell me what I can or can't read." Simply stating a fact, Sam was good at those. They calmed Dean down and prevented Sam from turning simple conversation into argument (then again, with Dean everything had to be an argument). 'Besides it's interesting and can't affect someone, who don't believe in that whole 'God is love' concept. And, if it can't zap me into TV Land or put me in a loophole, I say it's pretty harmless. It's not like I can damage my head any more by simply reading, either."

Well, it was pretty clear explanation. But still pissed Dean off. He couldn't tell Sam to throw it away and burn the thing down. He went through too much; what's the point in beating yourself down with a book about the angels? Then again, Sam was drawn to sad things. Always was, his little masochistic, loving rain, crying and sad people Sammy. Dean knew one day in Heaven his little brother would be surrouned by everything he'd lost, instead of imagining a place in Hawaii with cool breeze and awesome booze (or whatever made Sam trully happy).

Dean rolled his eyes, remembering the main reason, why he didn't want Sam to read that book. "But _Trickster_? Of all asshole angels you could think of?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I know, just... Fathery Delaney said something two weeks ago that got me thinking. Nothing major, just, you know... religious stuff? Archangel Gabriel stuff."

Dean furrowed his brow, refusing to back down. "That bastard was the opposite of religious."

"Well, he did die for our sins."

"Pretty sure that's another guy. The one in sandals and with a lot less sassy remarks."

Sam snorted. Yep, he walked right into that one.

He tried a diffrent aproach. "You never think about them? About Gabriel?"

"Why would I think about the dick?"

Sam rubbed his temple. "Okay, right, you don't, cool. But I do."

"Why would _you_ think about the dick? Unless you two had a secret love affair, then I just don't get it. And I'm not sure if I want to."

Sam snorted. "God, no." He wrunged fingers, trying to find the right words. "It's just like seeing his other face, you know? In that book, I mean. We know him as the trickster, but he was so much more. The Bible says he was so much more. I think at least some of it is true. And it's refreshing. Knowing, I mean. Knowing why he was like he was and what people saw in him. No, don't get me wrong, Dean. Stop thinking about a secret love affair for a second and just listen. Sometimes I'm thinking about angels as a whole or about a single angel. And I start to get it."

Dean looked skeptical, his voice still slightly annoyed. "Get, what?"

"Why they did what they did. No one made them do anything. They choose it. Gabriel just figured it out sooner and actually did something about it."

Dean recognised that look, that spark in Sam's eyes, how they lit up, when he talked about something exciting (when he was a kid it usually was a book or a movie, then the idea of going to college, then it kind of never happened again). He could go on and on, and on. And Dean loved – oh God, how much he loved – his brother's enthusiasm, seeing him completely and utterly absorbed by an idea (Sam was weird like that, some idea sometimes made him more happy than a beer and good laid). And Dean wanted to smile and laugh to finally see Sam... live.

But he knew he needed to crush that enthusiasm now, to spare Sammy the disapointment later. Why he couldn't get philosophical about aliens, unicorns or slash fiction like other people? No, he got to go straight for the sensitive topic. Damn it, he wouldn't be Sam, if he didn't do just that. It was all or nothing with him. And Dean saw how that was a problem in the past and how it might be a problem in the future.

To see Sam happy, he had to (he did before) crush some of Sam's pointless, quick-term dreams. He had to.

Dean swallowed a swip of beer to gain the courage. Damn it, he knew what was gonna happen. Either Sam will door-slam him and wouldn't talk to him properly for days (sometimes weeks; sometimes four years) or give him that utterly completely crushed look, like always when Dean couldn't see his point of view. He did see. And he _will_ prevent this.

"Let me tell you something, Sammy." He started, playing with the nearly empty bottle in his hand. "Leave it like this. Dead's dead. Why dig up the past? He won't mess with you anymore. I mran, Gabriel's dead. And he ain't coming back. Why let him mess you up even more from under the grave?"

Dead's dead? _Dead's dead?_ Wow, Dean really was a fucking hypocrite sometimes. He'd never say it, if they'd been talking about Charlie, or Bobby – or freaking anyone else, because most of their friends were dead. Of the two of them Dean was the one with 'why dig up the past. Just move on, dude' attitude, but that didn't stop him from bringing Sam back to life however many times, from talking about Bobby like he still was there and not moving on at all.

Sam had no idea why it pissed him off so much. Yeah, Gabriel was a dick. He knew that. He knew he was dead. But that didn't mean Sam shouldn't think of him. Of whatever or whoever he wanted to think, even if it meant diging up the past. He would think of Gabriel whenever he damn well wanted to. Gabriel changed after all – even if Dean couldn't focus enough to see it. And as much Sam hated the Trickster, he liked Gabriel, the Archangel persona... Or he would have. He definitely would've, if Gabriel was alive.

But he wasn't. And that brought him exactly to point 1. Which meant nothing.

Suddenly the book became a reminder of Dean's little rant. Dead's dead. Ugh. Sam left it on the night stand, muttering, "I bet you're enjoying my misery, wherever you are, asshole." He landed face on the pillow and fell asleep right then and there.

He never bothered to open the book up again to finish those last six pages.

* * *

Dean and Cas went to talk to the suspect – a old woman they thought was a black widow killing one young man every three years to be young again. Sam was supposed to wait in the car, observing the most un-suspicious area possible.

He turned on the radio, hearing the song in full blast.

 _'Cause it was the heat of the moment_

 _Telling me what your heart meant_

 _The heat of the moment shone in your eyes'_

Sam stilled, unable to turn the radio off or even turn down the volume. Memories behind his eyelids, kind if blurry, but still there. Dean dying in the Mystery Spot. ' _Rise and shine, Sammy!'_ Dean hit by a car. ' _Yesterday was tuesday. But today is tuesday, too!'_ Dean randomly dying in the shower. ' _There's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours.'_

Gabriel... no, Trickster made him despise the song after waking up to it every single day for three months. _Asia_ , huh? One of Dean's favorites, but since the loop-hole they had a silent agreement to never listen to it again. Some time after that Sam avoided turning the radio on at all, and they stick to the old tapes, to Dean's delight. Then he realised what a stupid fear it was – the chances that the radio will play ancient Asia of all the brand new Taylor Swift songs was one on a million.

But hearing it in the _exact_ same moment after hitting the on button? Sam wasn't paranoic or anything (yes, yes he was), but it was just too fortunate, even with his luck, right? Right?

No, it's an accident. Accident that happened accidenticaly. Those can happen to anyone, even Sam. Sam was just an accidentical person, Like that time he lost his shoe... In the bad luck day, exactly! It's nothining.

But the universe yelled 'ha!', when Sam wanted to brush it off as a bad luck and what's playing now, when Dean knocks on the window and opens the door, after Sam unlocked it?

Fucking Back in Time, that's what.

' _But you better promise me, I'll be back in time'_

Dean's suit was torn in the chest by something that souspiciouly looked like claws. Cas in the back looked no better. His trench coat was ripped apart to pieces, hanging of his arms.

"She got away." Dean answered the silent question. "The bitch shreded my new suit. That's why we don't have nice things, Sammy." He mumbled under his breath. Then groaned, realising the radio was on. "Ugh, turn that thing off. Let's hear some real music."

AC/DC blasted through the speakers and Dean momentaly calmed down.

Sam stared ahead, completely paralised.

"Something's wrong, Sam?" Cas asked from the backseat.

Sam shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. "No, uh... I'm fine, Cas, thanks." After a second thought, he added, "Hey, what's the day today? I think the new episode of the show I watch comes out today."

"It's tuesday, dude. Pretty Little Liars have to wait. We need to take that bitch first, before she'll kill some poor guy again... or rip his suit to pieces."

"You seem fond of your suit." Cas noticed.

"No kidding. If it cost you that much, you'd be mad, too."

Sam stopped listening after that. It was Tuesday. Fucking Tuesday. Accidents so accidentical weren't accidents at all.

Okay, so Sam was paranoid and he thought that yes, the possibility of someone messing with him was so huge it was out of the scale. It could be Gabriel, of course, but it didn't need to be. Some creature, yes. Sam just needed to find out what.

Oh, and about Dean's suit... After they killed and burned the bi–the witch, and came back to the bunker, Dean found a new navy blue suit that probably cost a shitload of cash in his wardrobe, but he never wore it and never said anything. And maybe he bought Cas a new trench coat and put it in his wardrobe, so he couldn't know it was him.

When they talked again, Cas thanked him for it with that weird gilmer in his eyes that did things to Dean's stomach, and the most creative thing he could come up with was, "Thanks."

* * *

After that hunt the incident became recent (or Sam was just noticing them more). They never reapeted, just popped out randomly on diffrent intervals of time (sometimes nothing happened for weeks, sometimes something happened again on the next day) and always had something to do with Sam's encounters with Trickster (and no, Sam wasn't writing too much meaning into it). It was something only he and Dean were supposed to know.

Like in one episode of Dr. Sexy M.D that Dean told Sam to watch, because he had to go with Cas on 'important angel business', and Sam wasn't sure, if it was ancronym for sex or not, since they tended to leave Sam alone a lot lately... But back to the point, Dr. Sexy wore white tennis shoes instead of his cowboy boots. Tennis shoes! The whole episode was about the mafia boss lady that was Dr. Sexy's patient on heart transplant, who stole the cowboy boots after she learned about his on and off romance with Dr. Piccolo. But he wasn't ashamed of his tennis shoes, he wore them proudly and made them sexy, like only Dr. Sexy can.

Seriously, that was it. It was ridiculous, but Sam watched anyway to the end, waiting for some Trickster to snap their fingers and pop out of tin air. It didn't happen. And Dean didn't believe him, when he explained him this episode's plot. With driping sarcasm he said,

"Thanks, Sammy. Very funny" stealing one of Sam's famous bitch-faces (but not that good, of course) and pouted for the next few days, untill the next episode came out (this time with cowboy boots and all).

Or all of sudden Sam got free samples of sweets whenever he went. People on the streets literaly were cramming them into his pocket. Dean was jealous at first, which was pretty hilarious. But then only he enjoyed the treats, since Sam ate so-called 'rabbit food' and Cas just didn't like the taste of a lot of them (except honey, he absolutely _loved_ honey).

Or that one time Sam ended up talking with the awkward janitor in high school in Pontiac, Illinois.

Sam heard, "I've been moping these floors for six years.", when the guy actually said "I'm doing my job 'till six. Then I'm outta here." Sam couldn't place the words and why they sounded so familiar at first. Then he groaned. Again, Dean wasn't there to confirm Sam wasn't going crazy.

Oh, and the inccident with the porn. Ugh. He wanted to erase it from his mind forever and never mention it again to anyone ever.

So, the porn. The one with Gabriel in it? Casa Erotica? Sam watched it. He dug it out of the abyss of the large box with useless things that they didn't use anymore, but for some reason never threw away, and he watched it to the end. _An hour_ of embarasing moans from the girl and close-ups of Gabriel's face, when he cum. Yikes.

The most embarassing was that Sam had to jerk off in the shower after. Which left him completely ashamed of his body reactions and slightly dissapointed. There was a message directed at them both – about the rings and horsemen (huh, it really was so long ago?); there was a message directed at Dean at the start of the video, something about being afraid to stand up to your brother; Sam thought there'd be a message directed at him. At least at the end, something along the lines of "Sam, only you'd be so stupid watch porn video with a dead archangel in it to the end, looking for some clues. Talk about creepy. Congratulations, here goes nothing."

He was wrong. Well. It happens. Cool.

* * *

Sam was anything but cool. Easily adapting to surrounding as a hunter and all that. But still somewhat uncool about it. Maybe it's the nerdy thing. Or the fact that he actually tried to be polite most of the time. And he wasn't so hot-headed as Dean for example. And he liked to have a way out, some kind of strategy for everything. It made him so calm at the cases, in fights.

When it came to his personal life, it was glaringly obvious when something was off with Sam. Dean knew him like the back of his hand and Cas was inhumanly perceptive, so when Sam was spending more time in his head than usual, they called intervention.

This time when Sam and Cas were waiting in the Impala for Dean to but them dinner (they threw a coin and he lost) and it took a lot more time than usual, Sam knew what was it. The silent intervention. Sam could talk to Cas, if he didn't want talk to Dean. Dean tried four times to bring the topic, why Sam seemed so aloof lately, but it didn't work (Sam told him once about his theory about where all the sweets were coming from, Dean said, „shhh, just let it happen").

So Sam was stuck with Cas in the car, untill he talks. Okay, he could do that.

But Sam without a strategy was as far away from cool and casual as you could get. So he blurted out, "So, there's any possibility that Gabriel's not dead?"

 _Smooth, Sam. Real smooth._

Cas frowned, his gaze never leaving his smartphone. Sam was thankful Cas was so occupied with Angry Birds – or whatever the angel was doing ( _God, please, don't text Dean, don't text Dean_ ).

If he thought it was a strange question, he didn't comment on it. Humans still tended to suprise him at times, but mostly he got used to their weirdness. Especially Sam's train of thought. Sometimes he asked the most bizarre questions.

"As you know Gabriel was killed by Lucifer with his own angel blade. Archangels are the majestic nearly invinsible warriors, but I don't think even Gabriel could trick his way out of death. Perhaps you think otherwise?"

"If he thaught me anything, it was that he's pretty stubborn bastard, but that's as far as a Archangel-slash-ex-pagan god can go. I'm sure he died that night in Elysian Fields hotel, so don't worry about it. I was just curious."

Cas looked at him, their gazes met in the rear-view mirror. The angel couldn't read his thoughts – at least he promised he wouldn't to that without their permission – still Sam felt like he was staring at his very soul, every doubt and trouble bared under gaze of those big blue eyes. Sam only hoped Cas won't find out about his little obsession with Gabriel (or whatever that was messing with him like Trickster would).

Sam snapped out of it, when Cas started talking. "When we were in St. Philomena's Church in Worcester, I saw you crossing in front of the portret of Gabriel after the talk with the priest. I meant to ask about that, but I didn't want to bother you. Then Dean told me about the book you were reading recently. It suprised me greatly. Have you,"

 _Started to doubt Gabriel's death? Watched porn starring your brother and jerked off to it? Think about him in a spare time? Kept on being completely and incurably paranoic that's he's messing with me again? Yes, Cas. Yes, I have._ "found your faith?"

 _What?_

"What?"

"It is nothing to be ashamed of." Castiel added quickly. "I think it truly is wonderful you're letting yourself be open to the world again."

Well, he wasn't exactly wrong. Only on the slightly wrong direction. Sam didn't have a heart to correct him. He wanted to share his enthusiasm (as enthusiastic as Cas can be with that blank face and all).

"It's not like a full-on super-faith or anything, just... small steps." Cas nodded and Sam found himself believeing in those words. Huh. That concept didn't make him cringe like it used to. But that's beside the point. „Can you tell me more about about Metatron's illusion? The one with Gabriel. You asked him, if he was dead, and...?"

"He waggled his eyebrows in that obnoxious manner, but no, he didn't deny it. For a moment I hoped with all my heart that Gabriel's alive, but sadly it turned out to be only an illusion. Metatron indeed used dirty tricks."

That's confirmed the theory Sam drew in his mind. In case Gabriel actually wasn't dead and if it was him, who messed with Sam all this time. That was one of his most ridiculus (and most possible) ones. He tried not to take it too seriously, though. He was just wondering.

"Yeah, but what if it wasn't. An illusion, I mean. Maybe Metatron somehow, I don't know, tricked Gabriel into creating it. You said it was just like his other pocket dimensions, he must be in it in order it to work. Maybe someone bound him to it or, or, I know it's sounds crazy just bear with me. Maybe Metatron brought Gabriel back with the angel tablet or something, but he had power over him. So in that illusion Gabriel couldn't do anything weird, because Metatron was watching. So he never said if he's alive or not. 'Cause, you know, Metatron couldn't punish him for _not saying_ anything."

Yep. He said it. Sue him. He thought that through many times, before he was sure he wanted third-party opinion on the theory. Cas was the obvious choice.

"You put a lot of thought into it." Like Sam thought, Cas looked reluctant. Like he experienced it before and knew how it was gonna end. „I'm not sure, if it's the right idea to put your faith in. Gabriel never was the patient one, if he was alive, don't you think he would've show some sign of it?"

Sam expression must have said something, because Castiel's expression suddenly hardened.

"He hasn't, has he?"

Sam sighed, rubbing his temple. "You won't believe me."

"Sam. Is my brother had been comunicating with you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it's just small stuff like the song in the radio or TV show that's only we supposed to know. And it's not in my head, Cas, it's not. You saw it, too, you and Dean, but you wouldn't know. But I... I don't know how to confirm it."

Cas nodded absent-mindely, before saying, „Did you pray?"

"What?"

"Prayer, Sam. If you want to communicate with an angel, it's the easiest way. It may not give you wanted what you desire, but send you on the right direction."

Sam groaned. "Now you're talking like Father Delaney!"

"He must be a smart man, then." Came Cas only answer.

Sam hadn't prayed in years. He wasn't gonna start now. Besides, it's stupid idea (how he didn't think of that sooner?). What if Gabriel couldn't hear him? Or ignored him? Or actually answered, but Sam didn't like the answer? But again, it could get him all the answers he wanted. He mentally noted to give it a try after they end tha hunt they were currently going on.

Sam saw Dean approaching and he turned to the back seat again, "And, Cas? If you would, you know, not tell Dean about this..."

"I have no intention of worrying him, Sam. I know how strongly Dean reacts of any instability in your lives and I'd like to spare him an unnecessary stress."

Dean opened the door, throwing Sam's salad at thim. Then he gave Cas his burger. After Castiel's grace has been restored, he still craved a drink or food from time to time – the aftermath of being human for so long.

"What're you two nerds talking about?"

"When the hell will you come back with our food. Cas suggested to eat you, instead." Sam snorted. Wow, that came out wrong.

"No, I didn't." Was that blush on Cas cheeks?

Dean only laughed, ruffling Sam's hair (much to his annoyance) and meeting Cas eyes in the rear-view mirror.

* * *

"What the hell, dude? I said stay in the fucking car! One simple thing and you mess this up!" Dean shouted.

Sam wanted just... break something. _Anything_. As long as the ache in his chest and headache go away. As long as his knuckles will go numb, the muscles nearly give away and extertion finally, fucking finally lull him to sleep. That's what he craved. Sleep. Normal dreamless all-night sleep, or any kind of sleep when he didn't wake up after two hours. He wanted to rest. He deserved to rest after five days of hunting vampires non-stop.

That was one of those days – after particuarly nasty nightmare about Lucifer, Ruby and all that crap; he tried not to remember – when his mind did a back flip. Things he enjoyed annoyed him all of sudden, and he felt bad for snapping at Dean for no apparent reason. It wasn't his fault his little brother was a freak – ruining whatever good day they had. He couldn't stop himself, as if the better the day, the more Sam wanted to made it miserable for everyone. He barely managed to stand himself.

 _Stupid, emotional Sam. Why do you always ruin everything?_ – something that was getting bigger and bigger everyday in Sam's mind sounded an awfuly lot like Lucifer's voice, dark, taunting, amused.

And Sam wanted to feel positive, he tried breathing exercies for anxiety attacks, he started to run again in the mornings, he was eating healthy, he laughed and joked with Dean or talked about books and exchenged ideas with Cas. Sometimes he called Jody to say hi (she wasn't a woman of many words, but she always ended up telling Sam about Claire, Alex or her new friendship with Donna Hanscum). That's exactly the point! He shouldn't feel this empty. He should be happy. He so desperatly tried to be happy.

But it all sometimes felt forced. Like _no, no, Sammy, don't get to comfy, you don't belong here. It isn't your place. Remember your destiny, what you where born for. For bad things. You are nothing without disasters, fights, wars. You were supposed to end the world, for crying out loud! You don't deserve good things. You're nothing. Dean has enough of you already and he'll dump your sorry ass whenever he and Cass will hit it off and understand that the only ones they need are each other. You're just a meanance, useless baby they need to take care of. And if they were better off without you, so will the rest of the world._

It gets overwhelming after a while. So no, Dean's bitching wasn't helping him. He wanted the hunt to be over. So he decided to end it on his own. Following three vampires to a werehouse at the end of the town in the woods, and killing them. Sounded like an easy win.

Yeah, right. Like anything would be easy.

Now they were locked in the small room, basement of the werehouse, the only light iluminating the room was shining of the moon, through tiny window with metal bars three feet above them (they tried to brake them, to no avail, and Cas couldn't use his powers there).

"I had got it." Sam mumbled, crossing his arms.

Dean snorted, the sound so dark Sam had to supress the shiver that ran down his spine clanching his fists.

"Well, obviously, you didn't! You didn't _get this_. If Cas hasn't show up, you'd be dead already."

Dean had a point. God, he always had. They were locked up in there because of Sam. He let one of the assholes lure him there and nearly brake his skull. He knew he fucked up. He tried, but he did. He always did. Always let Dean down.

"He did. End of story. Can you fuck off now?"

"No." Dean growled. „You should've waited for me. You should've–„

"I fucked up, I get it. I fuck things up – that's what I do! I should've listen to your stupid orders, because you're suddenly the almighty boss now." Sam spat. „I should've told you where I was going. And I should've sit at my sorry ass in the car, because I'm incapable of doing my work right. Thank you, dear brother. You proved your point on how useless I am."

That wasn't what he tried to say. He tried to say something along the lines of 'Yes, Dean, you're right. I'm sorry I'm a whiny little bitch today, but I'm just overwhelmed by everything. I get like that, mostly when no one else is around. It'll pas. It always passes. So don't worry."

Castiel clearly saw his doubt. He was standing next to Dean, back turned to them, playing Angry Birds, still waiting for a signal, but it didn't work, just like his powers for some reason, pretending not to hear a thing. When the argument turned into a shouting match, he was facing them with his head tiled to the side, visibly distressed, trying to find a way to soothe things out as a peacemaker he was.

He put his hand on Sam's shoulder, staring at him with those big understanding eyes that just pissed Sam off at the moment.

"Sam, calm down. I think what Dean's trying to say is..."

Sam shrugged of his hand, turning his glare at Cas. "I know what he's trying to say, Cas! I know my brother thirty years, so yes, I know what's on his fucking mind right now, okay?"

Dean jabbed his finger at Sam's chest, pushing him back away from Cas. "No, you don't get to yell at him like that. He didn't do you a fucking thing, besides rescuing your sorry ass of those sons of bitches."

Sam gritted his teeth. "I know! Jesus, fuck, I know!"

"Do you?" Dean's voice cracked up at the end, but he quickly composed himself. "Or you're telling yourself those things again? Whatever it is, it's not true. You need to fight this. I can't loose you again to that crap."

 _That. That's what you wanted to hear, right, Sammy? Aren't you satisfied now? Gee, you're such a princess. Everyone's trying to make you feel better and you just stomp all their help..._

"I know." He choked up. „I know, but I just can't... not right now."

"I get it. Okay? I get it." His voice barely a whipser now. "When this is over, we go somewhere. You, me and Cas. Somewhere peaceful, like by the sea or I don't know... Wherever you two want, we'll figure something out. You'll get drunk, sleep or read your stupid books all day. You'll get better. But right now, I need you to keep it together, untill we get out of here and kill those sons of bitches. Promise me this. Sam, you promise?"

Sam felt his eyes sting, but the managed to say, "Yeah. I promise."

Dean hugged him so tight, Sam seriously wasn't able to breath. "Good," He repeated, mostly to himself. "Good."

"Oh, aren't you just adooorable?" The voice cooed clear as a day in their heads. "Step aside from the door, if you please."

They looked at each other in confusion, but still did just that in time with the steel door hit the wall, nearly torn from its hinges. The figure standing in the doorway was a man in sunglasses with curly black hair, ratty jeans and Ramones t-shirt. He looked at twenty-something years old.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here, guys." The stranger managed to say, before Dean pulled the trigger.

The man threw himself on the ground with a squeek, managing to dodge a bullet just in time. "What the frickity frack? Are you trying to kill me?" He dared to sound affronted.

"Yes." was Dean's flat reply.

Sam and Cas exchanged looks, no one had no idea, who this guy was.

"After I resqued you? Not very hero like, I say."

"Good thing I'm not a hero, kid. Who the fuck are you?" Dean pointed his gun again at the stranger, ready to fire again.

Sam had only knife and Cas had his angel blade, both ready to strike.

He brushed the dust of his shoulders, whe he got up, then leaned on the doorframe, some plan to look cooler, as Sam suspected. He showed palms of his hands.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me."

"Better just tell us your name, because I have a feeling Dean'll gladly be your mama. You know, the one that killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled the tringer, now he's dead."

The man laughed delighted at Sam's sarcasm. "The sass, the perky little ass, you must be Grumpy. Which means you two are Dopey and Bashful," he looked at Dean and his gaze lingered on Cas, „By the way, thanks for blinding my sister. I'd appreaciate, if you wouldn't do that to me. The world's too pretty to not look at it anymore."

He eyed Dean and Sam aprreaciatevely. Cas stepped from behind Dean with a frown.

"What do you mean?"

But Sam already had the answer. "Pamela Barnes. Your sister?"

The man shrugged, slinding off the sunglasses and hiding them in the front pocket of his leather jacket. Then he waved a hand. "The name's Peter. Peter Barnes."

"How did you find us?"

"I'm a psychic."

"You live in town?"

"So you're the smart one, huh?"

Sam ignored the comment. "Just answer the question."

"Let's just say it's my town and I don't like intruders."

"So what are you doing here?"

"Why, Grumpy, I'm here to play a hero. The vampire's nest you looking for? Piece of cake. Let me show you the way, so we all can return to our respective activities that don't involve murdering anything. Whaddya say?"

Sam sighed, deciding for everyone. He just wanted everything to be over already. "If you're lying, remember we have guns and we'll find you."

Peter snorted, but he didn't look so sure anymore.

* * *

"I told you wan can't trust him!" Dean shouted, cutting head of a vampire woman in red dress.

"You never said anything!" Sam glanced incredulously at his brother, when he was holding one guy's arms, so Cas could kill him with his angel mojo. The white light shot from his eyes and mouth, and the vampire landed on the floor.

"I was thinking it!"

The tuth is they all decided in the car it was good idea. Pamela was their friend, and that guy, Peter, was so much like her. He wouldn't betray them. Pamela would never do that. So yeah, he led them to the cannals out of town (with entrance in the woods, near the old werehouse), like he said. What he never said, was he'd help them. So when the four vampires attacked them in the small corridor, Peter run away. And his scream of, "Sorry, guys, I'm a lover, not a fighter! Good luck, though!" was heard through all the underground, luring five more creatures to Team Free Will.

Now Sam had probably some of the ribs broken, Dean was swaying dangerously and Cas was too distracted protecting them both and not letting Dean fall, to stop the five vampires beating him with baseball bats. And a guy (even angelic one) could handle only that, before he started giving up.

Sam was knocked on the floor first, when reality started playing tricks on him and became blurry for a second. A second to have three bulky vampired holding him down. They did the same to Dean and Cas, when they both turned their heads in the direction of Sam's sudden cry, when baseball bat hit his arm. They all heard a bone braking.

Panting and trying not to yell, Sam got up on his ass and crawled back, until his back hit the moist wall. Shit. What chances they got? Cas was knocked out, Dean clutching to his trench coat for the life of him, hands trembling. When no one could separate them, they left them like that, bloody and exausted, laughing at the display of protectivness.

Dean's eyes met Sam's and he nodded. Sam shook his head. He didn't need divertion. He wasn't going anywhere. He just needed to think, to form a plan. Right arms was off, pain hooding his eyes, but he sucked it up. He wasn't important now. Pain didn't matter. He got used to it. _Breathe, Sam, you need to breathe._ His lungs were on fire, he probably broke a few ribs.

Damn it, he really was useless.

The vampires didn't kill them yet, so it was about something else. They were waiting, probably for their leader to come. Sam needed to figure something out before then, he need a plan. But how could they get out of there without Cas' power? With an uncious Cas at that, when Sam's arm was broken and with Dean only half-concious state they wouldn't get to far.

Sam's attention snapped to his brother, when he spitted blood in some high-level suit-wearing ripped vampire's face. The guy roared and kicked Dean in the stomach. _Fuck, Dean, you incurable idiot!_ Everyone in the room seemed amused or angry, but every single one head was turned to Dean. Which was exactly what he wanted, but still fucking stupid. The suit guy was using his big brother as a private punching bag and the others were whispering about killing Cas only to see how Dean would react. Jesus, were everyone so stupid or what? It they'd touch Cas again, Sam was sure Dean would rip their thoats out, if it's the last thing he did.

Given the circumstantces, yep, very possible. They were all gonna die sooner than later. Sam's legs felt like jelly and he couldn't focus for longer than five seconds to form a plan. In other words, they were royally screwed.

Fuck, he could use a miracle right now.

 _Where the is hope, there is faith. Where there is faith, miracles happen._

"Shit!" Sam hissed, trying to hold himself upright. No one even looked at him, still taunting Dean. Damn it, thinking hurt. Seeing, too. Sam closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "Okay... okay, please work. Please work." He tried to calm hismelf down. It was one of the most ridiculus idea's he ever had, but what he had to loose, anyway? It was wort a try. Anything was worth a try to save Cas and his brother. "God or-or-or someone, help us. Please... please, help us..."

He repeated it like a manthra, untill a hand roughly yanked at his hair. He cried in pain. "Are you talking to yourself, mate? I thought the other one was nuts? I guess it's a family trait or something."

It didn't work. Why it didn't work? Sam was good. He was trying to be good. He deserved a fucking miracle.

Then, it occured to him.

Of course. _Of course!_ He didn't mean it. It was a prayer, so it didn't work like that. He had to meant it. Even if he haven't prayed in years, Sam knew how it's supposed to go. Short, simple, faithful and specifically.

He let himself feel at ease, hope lulling him like to sleep, taking over all of his body. Throat dry, but he managed a few simple words.

Sam Winchester prayed for the first time in… waht, years? Decades? And now, look at him, praying with everything he got to the only person he could think of in the time of dying.

"Gabriel, we could... realy use your help right now... I mean, get us out of here... Don't let them die, please. Please, if you're not dead and you can hear me. Save us... Please, just... Please.

* * *

THANKS FOR READING~

TELL ME HOW YOU LIKED IT. You can message me on various sites if you want to talk (I'm always up for it):

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Oh, and a question? Are some of you, Supernatural fans, christians or religious? What you think about religious themes on the show?


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